kimschlotwrites

I’m not the main character in this story, or the star of this show. That’s not who I am. I’m the one on the periphery. Just watching everything unfold.

It started with the arguments. About money, about in-laws. About working late. About not working enough. About who will drive, about what breakfast cereal to buy. So many arguments.

Then one day, the disagreements stopped. I thought things we improving. But I was mistaken. It wasn’t just the fighting that stopped. It was the words. At least with the yelling there was the occasional, “I love you, but why would you do this?” There was no love in the silence. It was just a void that I could not fill.

After the quiet came the separation. It started gradually. He slept on the couch for a couple weeks before moving out all together. We all cried the day he left. Our lives were crumbling. But he promised me that he was “right around the corner,” and I could see him whenever I wanted.

I stayed home with her. I heard her cry at night in her bedroom. Loud, never ending sobs. I wanted to cry, too, at this time. But I didn’t. She was the key player, not me. I just listened to her. I didn’t know what I could do to help her. I don’t know if there was anything to help her.

Eventually, lawyers got involved, and the arguing began again. I heard the words “unfit,” and “drunk” when she talked about him, and “cunt” or “bitch” when he talked about her.

Again, the hateful words were followed by silence. The paperwork was signed. Their possessions were divided up. I may have been the only proof that they loved each other at some point.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this was my story after all.